


Thunder children

by DamadiSangue



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamadiSangue/pseuds/DamadiSangue
Summary: The children of Raccoon, daughters and sons of a desperate tale.Children of the thunder, of the storm, of a sky crying misery and blood.In the end, all that’s left.





	1. Dark

"Turn on the light, it will keep the monsters away.  
Oh, but what do you do when the monster is you?"  
\- Unknown -

 

**Thunder children**  
  
  


 

**#1 - dark**

Suspended particles, molecules of a ~~god~~.  
Floating in nothingness, climbing on each other - without a order, without discipline.  
They are _nothing_ in the beginning, they’re _everything_ in the end.  
They are cells, tissues, organs - entire systems.  
Beneath the eyes of the white-coated men a god comes back to new life - _suffering_ from an agony mortals cannot even conceive.  
He has neither voice, nor words; just (confused, _delirious_ ) thoughts.  
There are others like him ( **failures** ), as the wheel hasn’t stopped turning yet.

“Subject number?”  
“One hundred and _thirteen,_ sir.”

Coming into the world hurts as much as passing away.


	2. Rage

**#2 - rage**

Lifeless, deathless.  
A damp feeling underneath his fingers (on his skin) - wetness.  
There’s no voice telling him _where_ he is, no other noise apart from the ferocious one belonging to _his_ heart.  
He can feel his body - _too little._ Wrong.  
He _knows_ he’s in a regenerative chamber (he used it for Jill), he _knows_ the required protocols (he wrote them for Umbrella).  
He tries to move a hand - he _can’t._  
His conscience slips away and comes back, his memories clinging to it like jellyfish tentacles.  
Albert Wesker closes his eyes and wonders if _this_ is Hell.


	3. Death

**#3 - death**

Umbrella _collapses._  
A foul monster, a rotten womb.  
Umbrella falls on its own knees - a giant chained up and killed like a dog.   
Umbrella is red **_and_ **white, slivers of glass ** _and_** blood.  
It’s a shout lost among a thousand others, a name hiding horrors and miracles behind.  
The powerless Cronus looks at his ambitions decline - a delusion that had eaten him ~~alive~~.   
Prometheus stands amongst the ruins, Persephone by his side.

_Not for long._

Zeus and Hera gather what’s left and _wait._


	4. Discord

**#4 - discord**

To accept means to comprehend. To comprehend means to evolve. To evolve means to survive.  
This the BSAA psychiatrist had told him; this was his truth.

_Bullshits._

Chris _had accepted_ the murder of Dr. Roach at Jill’s hand, her escape from the BSAA (from _him_ ).   
Chris _had accepted_ his life as a sequence of failures one after the other, a tragic comedy of the absurd.

_Zombie dogs and mutant spiders._

He had accepted all the shit war had thrown at him (the pain, the loss - the _total_ surrender of any hope).  
Truly Chris knew what **_accepting_ **meant (to bite the bullet and keep going) but he didn’t want to comprehend.

_He could not._

He didn’t want to evolve, _to change._

_He didn’t want to survive._

Three years later Piers will die to remind him what’s the meaning of standing up and fight.  
Of _living_ , in the end.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Wound

**#5 - wound**

Excella has always been a vain woman.  
Neat, _healthy_ nails.  
Long hair, as black as raven wings.  
Full lips, thin waist: a generous body.

_Bent to his longings._

Excella is _beautiful._  
She’s an indecent moan dressed in silk and diamonds, a fine present in as much precious wrapping paper.   
Excella is a nice face - a rotten heart.

_Beating just for him._

She smiles at him, baring her teeth - white and even.  
Albert Wesker has always had a weakness for _disgustingly_ expensive things.

 


	6. Sadness

**#6 - sadness**

 

Leon has officially worked for Raccoon’s police department for just two hours; after that the apocalypse, like that of Romero’s films.   
Raccoon City sinks into its own blood as he and Claire try to survive until dawn, running against time.  
Sherry’s eyes are empty, transparent.  
In her veins lies all that remains of the G virus, in her heart dust and ruins.  
Leon looks for her hand, listening to her calm and incredibly mature weeping.  
“They are dead.” she says, and this is no question.  
“Yes.” Leon replies, and the sun clings to the night - _burning_ it.  
Sherry bends her head down, hiding - an unexpected shyness.  
“Uncle Al too?”  
Leon’s got no clue _who_ she’s talking about. 


	7. War

  
**#7 - war**

Days bear no significance anymore, time’s a limited dimension.   
Alfred greets his sister from a distorted mirror, smiling at himself.  
Delicate hair, as thin as golden threads: a lean and masculine body.  
Alfred is alone in his own mind, Alexia’s a far and unreachable figure - a girl grown into a woman in the silence of the cryogenic sleep.   
Strangers have come to bother them ( _danger_ ) and now it’s up to him to protect her - to protect her from the world she **rightfully** owns.  
Alfred inhales, exhales; he adjusts the epaulets on his jacket, checking his rifle (good little soldier).  
It’s time to go to war.

 


	8. Negativity

**#8 - negativity**

 

Claire is _tired._  
It’s been three weeks since Sushestvovanie, but the grip that place has on her still shows no sign of decreasing.  
She rocks her leg beyond the arm of the sofa, a cup of cappuccino in her hands.  
TerraSave was betrayed ( _her trust was_ ).  
Reports were filled in, explanations were given: no one questioned the words of Claire Redfield, sister of one of the original founders of the BSAA and survivor of the Raccoon City incident.

_No one, but her._

Her phone vibrates, a message from Moira.  
Claire looks for it underneath the only files she could find about Alex Wesker. 


	9. Obligation

**#9 - obligation**

Jill bends her chin down, swaying forward.  
Fingers contracted as if they were claws, a bird’s face - Jill is like the gravedigger of the new century (glass eyes and dead skin).  
A woman clings to her ripped belly, _crying_ \- pointing at her and the eyeless devil.  
Wesker smiles - baring his teeth.  
They descended upon them from the sky, making the land barren.  
Kijuju’s hot air shakes the folds of her cloak _, scratching_ her flesh.  
Jill is a volitionless doll _(isn’t she?)_ , bent to a ruthless man’s needs.  
Albert Wesker is the monster under the bed - _in her bed_ \- author of this hopeless tale without redemption.  
“Jill.” he calls, and she answers.

**Always.**

Habit is a painless poison down her throat.


	10. Hatred

**#10 - hatred**

Edonia is a land teaching you just two things: _how_ to kick the bucket and _how_ to hate.  
Jake’s got his father’s eyes, his profile.

_Perhaps even his body._

The only thing left of Aelita is the sanguine nuance of his hair, his full lips.  
Her last words ( _your father loved you, Jake_ ) her last smile.   
Chris takes a second to study him - _to remember_ him.  
Sherry still looks like a little girl by his side, a lukewarm hand not fearing the snows Jake holds in his heart.  
“I can see your father in you.”  
“So you knew him?”  
“Yeah. I did.”  
Silence.  
“And I’m the one that killed him.”  
Sherry represses a sob, Jake draws out his gun.  
His pupils thin, his mouth half-opened.  
“It was you.” and his eyes speak to him - _blaming._  
“Tell me...” a movement on his left (Piers), no trembling in Jake’s hand “were you just following orders, or was it personal?”  
Chris stiffens his shoulders, accepting his judgement - his _punishment._  
“ _Both_.”  
Jake swallows, furrowing his brow.

_Suffering._

Hatred is a spark in his eyes burning everything else.


	11. Chapter 11

**#0 - We are each our own devil and we make this world our hell.**

Blood dripping, blood falling.  
Amongst her own creatures Alex is _nothing_ \- a red and white monster.  
All that blood slips on her arm, amongst the serpent’s scales, on her fingers clenched in a fist - a warning and her last will.  
The tale is over, the joust has come to an end (and you have lost).  
An infected slightly brushes her side, raising his chin towards her (ignoring her).

_Dead flesh for dead teeth._

Alex is aware of Stuart’s voice calling her from the tower, understands the enormity of the events her actions triggered.

_But she doesn’t care._

A woman sniffs her, black hair without a shade of grey.  
Alex stares at her (empty eyes, once green), reflecting in that dead glance (as dead as hers).  
The woman’s neck jerks to her right, her feet start moving again.  
Alex takes a hand on her eyes, _smiling._  
The one thing truly dead in that destruction is her heart.

 

  
**"I think cruelty is just loneliness disguised as bitterness."**  
**\- Tom Hiddleston -**


End file.
